


With Time

by gin_tonic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-27
Updated: 2011-05-27
Packaged: 2017-10-19 20:02:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gin_tonic/pseuds/gin_tonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has to deal with the trauma of being raped and choosing to have an abortion. Snape, as the training supervisor at the company Harry and he work at, gets a call from Harry's healer and decides that something has to be done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Time

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** Harry is raped and to his horror becomes pregnant. He chooses to abort the fetus (or is forced into it by Uncle Vernon), but he regrets the loss of life. Severus, based on his own past experience, has been entrusted with helping Harry deal with his pain, loss, and guilt, much to Severus' bitter annoyance.
> 
>  **A/N:** A million thanks to my wonderful beta for her speedy and excellent work and to for her patience and help.

"Mr Potter, the healer is ready for you now."

Harry rubbed the sleeve of his shirt over his red-rimmed eyes and nodded. He shuffled into the clinically white room behind the mediwitch, who pointed him towards the bed. Trembling, he lay down on it. "Do I have to…" He vaguely pointed at his clothes, not looking at her.

"No, that's alright. Healer Shah uses methods that don't require you to remove your clothes. She will be with you in a moment." The mediwitch left, only to be replaced by Healer Shah, who looked friendly, but professional and didn't engage in chit-chat. She checked the chart that Harry had filled out beforehand and nodded. "I see you have been advised on this matter, are aware and do agree to what I will be doing." She waited for Harry's nod, then raised her wand. Harry closed his eyes. "This will not take long, Mr Potter, but the procedure is very strenuous on your body. You will need to rest today and tomorrow and come back to see me the day after that."

 

******

 

Harry didn't stop shaking even when he arrived back home. He locked the door with the strongest warding-spells he knew – the Floo was already disconnected – and curled up on the couch. He felt weird, empty. Sick to his stomach, but that he had expected at least. The mediwitch had advised him to eat, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stomach anything. He'd barely eaten all week anyway; one day more would hardly matter now.

Harry accio'd a bottle of water, only to see it crash halfway towards him. His magic was wonky. This they hadn't warned him about, but seeing as his magical field had been changed he should have expected it. His wand still clenched in his hand, Harry got up and spelled the floor dry, then bent down to pick up the shards of the bottle. Better than to mess up another spell and have shards flying wild through the room. He wanted to bury his head in a pillow, wanted to sleep and forget and knew he couldn't. When he closed his eyes _he_ was there, waiting for him, doing everything all over again.

He should be glad, Harry told himself as he threw the glass away. Glad that it was gone, that it was over with. No reminder of what happened. Even the bloodstains were gone now that he'd incinerated the sheets, his clothes, ripped as they had been.

 

******

 

A couple of days must have passed, but Harry wasn't sure how many. He had barely left the couch: had drifted from light slumber to nightmares; had taken hot showers – two that day, he guessed. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that life wouldn't wait forever till it came to reclaim him, but he didn't feel ready at all.

 

Hours had passed – which Harry only knew because it had gotten dark outside and he had lit every single lamp in the room – when a knock on his door jerked him from his thoughts. His trembling hand pointed his wand towards the door, but he didn't move to open it. He prayed for the wards to hold up.

Another knock, this time more insistent, impatient. "Potter, damn it, open up!" Harry blinked. He knew that voice. "Potter, you little twerp, open up or I'll call in the curse breakers to dismantle your bloody wards!" Snape. Harry swallowed. He'd know that voice anywhere. Snape. Hesitantly he edged towards the door. How could he make sure it was really Snape who was outside? What if someone was impersonating him? Harry shook his head. There was no way that was true. No one in his right mind would try that. "Potter!" No. Only Snape knew how to say his name like that. Only him. Harry silently moved his wand and watched the door glow for a second.

Snape opened the door with more force then necessary and stalked into the flat with a thunderous expression on his face. He stopped short when he saw Harry flinch. From beneath his eyelashes, Harry saw Snape take in the room – the sheets and pillow on the couch, the bits and pieces of half-eaten food, the handkerchiefs Harry hadn't bothered to throw away. Snape cleared his throat. "You missed your Healer's appointment."

Harry looked away and closed his eyes. He had not expected that. No one was supposed to know. "How –?"

"When you didn't show they apparently tried contacting Mr Weasley and Ms Granger –"

"They are on their honeymoon."

"Ah. Yes." Snape took a step further into the room, navigating around a pile of books that Harry had taken from the shelf but not bothered to open. "When they couldn't reach anyone they called the office. And as the training supervisor who has known you the longest, the honour to check up on you befell me."

"Sorry," said Harry and really meant it. He had planned on going to that appointment, but sometime between … well, everything, he had just forgotten.

Snape sniffed. "I'll Apparate you to the clinic."

"No." Harry's voice raised a pitch. Snape couldn't take him there. He couldn't see –

"Nonsense, Potter. Do not try to argue. You're hardly in a state to Apparate without splinching yourself – and I do not want to be bothered by any more paperwork than it is."

Harry nodded and pulled on a cloak. It was the widest he owned, just like the clothes that he was wearing now. Dudley's hand-me-downs from years back that Harry hadn't bothered to throw out. He was aware that Snape noted the clothes, but Snape said nothing, just offered his arm after setting the wards on Harry's door again. Hesitantly, Harry took Snape's arm and let himself be Disapparated.

 

******

 

"It's a good thing you brought him here, Sir. His magical field is seriously disturbed and might have caused an infection or worse," Harry heard Healer Shah say and blinked. He was lying on the same bed as before, but had no recollection how he'd gotten there.

"Ah, you're back with us, Mr Potter," Snape said and Harry turned to his left where the man stood. "It appears the Apparition put too much strain on your system – you fainted upon arrival."

"Oh." Harry swallowed and was at a loss regarding what else to say. Healer Shah gave Snape a look and with a nod he left the room.

"Your procedure went well enough, Mr Potter, but you haven't been looking after yourself. You need to eat in order for your system to restore itself. Things like that are no laughing matter for the body –"

"I know that," Harry interrupted her. His tone had been sharper than he had intended. The healer let it slide though and ran her wand over his body.

"Yes, I'm aware of that. It's never easy –" She shook her head. "Your body has been under a lot of strain. You need to take care of yourself. You'll have to take sick leave for another week." Before Harry could protest, she added: "I have put circulatory disturbances on your sickness certificate."

"Alright."

"Don't Apparate on your own. In fact, try not to use any magic at all and take this potion for the next two days." Healer Shah handed him a flask, then extended her hand for him to shake. "Come back in a week and we'll do a last check-up, but you should be fine by then."

"I doubt that," Harry mumbled, but thanked her anyway. Snape was waiting outside for him, but he hadn't expected any different. Wordlessly he took the offered arm and lost himself in the whirl of the Apparition.

 

******

 

"Pack what you need."

Harry looked up at Snape at that, for the first time that day. "Why?"

"Because you're not going to stay here." Snape sniffed. "You clearly aren't capable of…" He looked around. "Cooking for yourself and I do not have any plans of being disturbed by any healers again because you fail to check in when you're supposed to."

Harry swallowed, a protest on his tongue, but didn't say anything. The thought of being alone again in his flat made him shudder and he could help but feel relieved at the opportunity to escape. A quick spell packed a few of his clothes and his toothbrush into a duffle bag.

"Nothing from your bedroom?"

Harry shook his head and refused to look towards the door he had kept shut. "No. I'm good to go." His voice still felt rough from days of disuse. He hesitated as he saw Snape offer his arm, but reached out eventually.

The Apparition left him nauseated and he rather fell than sat down on a sofa right next to him, trying to take slow and deep breaths and fight the urge to vomit. It was only after a while that Harry became aware of his surroundings. Snape had left the room, but Harry could hear his footsteps coming from upstairs. Snape's living room was comfortable, but without much decoration save the hundreds and thousands of books that dominated the room. Turning his head Harry could see the open door to a kitchen that he knew would be as meticulously clean as Snape's potions room was.

Harry wiped his hands over his face and pulled at the ridiculously large jumper that he was wearing. He had to get his act back together.

"Potter." Snape was back in the room, but didn't bother staying long. Harry slowly followed him upstairs into a relatively bare looking bedroom. "You can stay here for the time being."

"Thank you," Harry forced out, not sure how grateful he really was. Then again anything seemed better than staying at his own place, alone.

Snape nodded and waited for Harry to come farther into the room. He briefly peeked out of the window then walked towards the door and pointed at another door on the other side of the hallway. "The bathroom is over there. You'll find towels in the wardrobe here." Snape cleared his throat. "I'll be in the room next door."

With that Snape left Harry alone, the door closing behind him. Gingerly, Harry sat down on the bed and rubbed over his eyes, telling himself the burning behind his lid came from fatigue alone. This didn't feel like home, he thought, but lay down on the mattress nevertheless. Maybe if he just went to sleep he could forget.

But sleep didn't come.

 

******

 

Harry woke up with a start as he heard a stair creak and was disoriented for a moment as he found himself in unfamiliar surroundings. Dimly he remembered arriving at Snape's house and he rubbed his face in order to wake up and remember fully.

"What are you doing here?" Snape barked from the doorway, where he stood fasting his cufflinks and looking at Harry with something akin to a surprised frown.

"I … you said I could stay…" Harry stammered and got up quickly, trying to ignore how dizzy that made him feel.

"Idiot." Snape strode into the living room. "Sit down before you faint." Harry did as he was told and closed his eyes only to find that it didn't exactly help with feeling like the room was spinning. "I was referring to you sleeping on the couch. I assigned you a room."

Harry barely held back a snort at that. Assigned – Snape sounded like he still was a teacher at Hogwarts. "I … I preferred sleeping here," he said instead as reality came crashing down on him.

"Care to tell me why?" Snape walked into the kitchen and set the toaster to work. But Harry didn't answer – because what could he say that didn't sound completely ridiculous, that wouldn't make him seem like a child? He had no ties to the guestroom whatsoever and nothing should remind him of…

"Cat got your tongue, Potter?"

"No." Harry cleared his throat and slowly followed Snape into the kitchen, where he accepted a mug of tea with a mumbled 'Thanks'. His potion was already set out on the table.

Snape gave him a look and harrumphed, but didn't say anything more until he'd eaten two toasts with jam and drank his tea. Harry was still clinging to the mug in his hands that was losing its warmth when Snape started talking again.

"Eat." Snape pushed a piece of toast towards Harry. "And don't forget your potion."

"Where are you going?" Harry noted the hint of panic in his own voice and tried to ignore it. He didn't want to be alone, least of all in a strange house where he didn't know all the nooks and corners yet.

"The cellar. I have a lab there. You will remain up here, get some rest and you will not break anything. And don't even attempt using magic or your recovery will take even longer. Have I made myself clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good. I will be checking up on you."

Harry nodded.

 

He still sat there, his tea as untouched and cold as his piece of toast, half an hour later as the clock in the living room chimed. Harry shook himself out of his thoughts, then slowly reached out and took a bite. He'd never liked throwing food away – and besides, Snape would notice if he didn't eat it. His throat felt raw and dry, so he gulped down the toast with a bit of too strong, cold tea before downing the potion straight afterwards. He'd hoped to be able to avoid tasting the foulness of the brew, but he was out of luck.

Not hungry anymore, Harry pushed away from the table and made his way back into the living room where a fire was flickering merrily. The couch was drawing him in, but he resisted the call, not really wanting to sleep. Maybe he could pick up a book and read, try to distract himself somehow. Thought he hadn't been exactly successful with that tactic back at his flat either.

Snape's books felt different to the touch than Harry's own. They felt cherished, yet being close to them gave Harry an impression of being in a library – and not only because there were so many of them. Snape preferred leather-bound books; some looked old, others were obviously newer, but all of them had that expensive, special feel. Most of them appeared to be texts on potion making, but ever so often there appeared a novel, a book about defence, about genealogy. They didn't seem to be sorted by a system, at least not to Harry, not even by the date when they had been bought. Maybe Snape had given up on trying to have a system with all those books that he had – though Harry couldn't really see Snape giving in to chaos.

Harry let his fingers trail over the backs of the books that were placed at the level of his eyes. Those must be the ones Snape liked best, he thought and stopped to look at the authors and titles. Stevenson, Joyce, a potions book without a name, Doyle. Harry's eyes lit up as he pulled the last book out of the shelf. He should have known that Snape would like Doyle. Harry smiled slightly and settled down on the sofa to read.

 

******

 

A noise from the hallway made Harry look up and he saw Snape coming into the room. The sunlight had moved through the room, now only touching the wall to the left of the window. Harry blinked; he hadn't noticed how much time had passed. It was the first time that he had successfully managed to distract himself.

Snape took a look at him, then went to the kitchen and came back with an apple that he tossed towards Harry. "Eat."

"I'm not hungry." Harry stared at the apple, then looked at the clock. Nearly four hours had passed since breakfast.

"I don't care. Eat. And while you're at it, you could also go drink some tea." Snape turned to leave for the cellar again.

"Do you want me to fix some for you as well?"

Snape stopped in his tracks, but didn't turn around. "You don't have to do that."

"I know."

"I can brew my own tea."

"I know." Harry put apple and book aside and got up. "Do you want some nevertheless?"

Snape sniffed. "That might be acceptable." He started walking again, this time slower. "Knock when it's done and don't come down. The potions are sensible. And you should not yet be around the ingredients." Harry would have been offended if it hadn't been for the little _yet_ that Snape had used. He could live with a _yet_. So he said nothing and let Snape go back to the lab while he entered the kitchen to brew some tea. Snape liked his black and strong, with just the tiniest hint of sugar.

 

******

 

Maybe he should have kept the baby. The thought jolted him on the way to a doze, still managed to surprise him, even though that same thought came and went often enough. He thought back to the time under the stairs, when he'd whished for nothing more than a family – a proper one. Or when he'd watched the Weasleys, so full of love for each other. Or how he'd been desperate enough to try a relationship with Ginny in order to fulfil his dream of having a family of his own one day. He'd always wanted children, wanted them bad. And he could have had that with the baby.

But he wouldn't have been able to love it. Would have seen Yaxley's face looking up at him every time he would look at the child. Would have hated every second the foetus would have spent inside him. In fact, he already had. Had felt it fester like a parasite.

Harry shuddered. He couldn't comprehend how he could think such a thing, but the thought was there, real and practically tangible. Yes, it was unfair and, yes, he hated himself for it, but that didn't change a thing about how he felt. Harry reached down, but halted as he came to touch his arm. Maybe it was for the best.

He pushed himself upright and stared around the living room. He had gone to the guestroom when Snape had retired into his own bedroom, but it had been barely more than pretend. He couldn't sleep in that cold, impersonal room. Couldn't stand being close to the bed. Any bed. And so he'd stayed near the door, sitting curled up on the floor, and had waited for Snape to fall asleep.

A low fire was still burning in the fireplace, its warmth gently engulfing Harry. His naked feet softly fell onto the rug in front of the sofa and he stood up slowly. There was shadows dancing slowly, beckoning him over, but Harry stayed away. The walls and books, the parchment thrown around, bits and pieces of a life that he had not shared before – probably didn't share even now – would have to wait until tomorrow. They were daytime explorations. The night, on the other hand, held other things in store.

Silently, Harry made his way into the kitchen. The tiles under his feet came as a shock, more welcome than not. Moonlight revealed the sparkling surfaces that would have made Aunt Petunia envious. The kitchen spoke so very much of Snape's character, his need to keep everything pristine and clean, the compulsion to be predictable – at least in the respect of the workroom and the kitchen.

Harry followed a previously unknown path into the hallway, where coats and robes hung randomly in the dark, here and there a hat gracing them. Harry's footfall on the wooden stairs would have been inaudible, if not for the creak that Harry knew was not entirely natural. Magic tingled around his feet and he couldn't help but wonder how it was that Snape still felt the need to rely on his old spy techniques.

Upstairs Harry bypassed the bathroom and the guestroom. Snape's door was closed, but he'd long ago learned how to open doors silently even without using a wand. There was only a tiny slither of moonlight in the room, creeping over Snape's sleeping form. Across a hand that was probably close to a wand, across a shoulder that was no longer hunched and over the pillow, where it vanished.

Harry exhaled quietly and closed his eyes for a moment, tiredness overcoming him. He closed the door as silently as he had opened it and took his place on the couch, seeking comfort in its softness and in sleep.

 

******

 

"I have to return to work," Snape announced in the morning. "Merlin knows if the bumbling fools have managed to botch my potions up already."

Harry's lip twitched into something of a brief smile at that. Despite all his grumbling and cursing, it was obvious enough that Snape liked working for Brambelier. He liked the experiments, the respect (and fear) that people had for him – and, probably, he liked that he barely had a budget limit if the potion he was working on would serve the company's goals and be possibly combinable with spells.  
Harry nodded, which made Snape give him a look that Harry couldn't quite decipher. He didn't ask if Harry would be alright alone. Instead he proclaimed that he would be checking in on Harry in regular intervals, adding that the Floo-connection could, from the outside, only be accessed with a password that only Snape himself knew.

Hearing that made something bloom inside of Harry. He wasn't sure what it was, but it felt secure, felt good, actually, and so Harry decided not to overanalyse it. "Am I still on sick leave?"

Snape nodded his head. "Just so. But I will file your application and my approval of your paid leave tomorrow."

Harry looked up sharply at that. Panic started bubbling in his chest. People would ask questions – where he had been, what he had done – and they would notice that something was amiss. They would know that he had been sick, they would ask why, would connect the dots that were only too clear for those who looked, and he'd be dragged through –

"Potter!" Snape's sharp yell, accompanied by a rap on the table, snapped Harry out of it. "No one will look at that note. Not that I would be dense enough to write down specifics – that is the trick of the trade. Be vague, but be able to overwhelm your victim with details when asked. Or have you forgotten how long I was a spy?"

Harry shook his head. "Of course not." His voice sounded rough to his own ears, so he gulped down some of the lukewarm tea in front of him.

"Well," Snape sniffed. "Wonders never cease."

"And you won't tell?" He wasn't even sure what Snape knew. He'd brought him to the clinic, but he couldn't know what had happened before, could he?

Snape gave him a look that Harry couldn't quite decipher, but he was sure the translation would include the words 'idiot', 'deaf' and whatever else insults Snape could think of. Only that Snape didn't say any of them and Harry didn't feel in the mood to defend himself. "I made that perfectly clear."

"Thank you." He knew his voice sounded small, but that couldn't be helped. "You won't be home too late, will you?" This time he didn't even check for the look Snape must be giving him. Harry knew he sounded like a worried wife – and really, he didn't want to go there – but the thought of staying alone in the house for too long…

Snape must've read that in his face, because he said: "Expect me back by 5 o'clock."

 

******

 

Harry pushed the remains of his dinner around on his plate. Healer Shah had declared him to be recovering well. Nevertheless, Harry was not ready to return to work, yet. Harry still only ate a little bit, but he was getting better and stronger. Mostly because Snape kept on insisting that he followed the healer's orders and took his potions regularly. Something was bugging him, though.

"Why don't you insult me anymore?" Harry raised his head and looked at Snape.

Snape snorted. "Never thought your masochism went that far, Potter. You like being insulted?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Yes." He cleared his throat. "I mean, of course I don't like to be insulted. But it feels weird that you're not doing that anymore. Like you…"

"Have gone soft?" Snape glared at Harry. "I assure you, Potter, it's nothing like that."

"That wasn't what I wanted to say!"

"Well, then what did you want to say? Do explain why you miss my insults."

"Because it feels like you are going easy on me. Like you don't take me serious anymore."

Snape sniffed and stood up, spelling their dishes into the sink where they began cleaning themselves. It was only after a while that he started speaking again. "I would not call it going easy on you," he said, wandering off into the living room and forcing Harry to follow him. "But you are not – or at least were not – in a condition where you could give any retort that was close to challenging me." He summoned Harry's evening potion, then a glass and a bottle of Scotch for himself. "In other words: insulting you became boring."

Harry sputtered at that. Now he _was_ feeling insulted. In a way. Harry scratched his head in indignation and wondered how he could be insulted when Snape told him that it was boring to insult him.

"Try not to break your brain while you figure that out," Snape snorted and sat down on the couch.

"That was an insult!" Harry grinned.

Snape smirked. "Well done, Potter. I am impressed by the sheer impossible capabilities of your mind. Astounding."

 

******

 

The stairs barely creaked now when Harry snuck upstairs. He was familiar enough with the house by now to know where the rough patch of the carpet in the hallway upstairs was, even if there wasn't any moonlight helping him along the way. He let his fingers run along the bare wall, still wondering why there weren't any pictures of family or friends decorating the place, and closed in on Snape's door. Earlier he had visited the kitchen, greeted the mouse that came out at night in the hallway and had given her some crumbs of biscuits and had done his usual round in the living room.

Now it was time for his nightly dare. The night before he had managed to sneak to the edge of the wardrobe – four steps into the room – before he'd given up and had hurried to reclaim what he viewed as his couch.

Harry felt a little like a ghost, wandering around the house like this, but he didn't mind. He didn't have to think going through his routine. Familiarity – and it was nothing but that, Harry realised with a slight shock – calmed him down, brought him a solace he hadn't quite expected. At least he hadn't expected finding it here.

Entering Snape's room was easy by now. As were the first three steps. Harry looked at Snape, who slept peacefully, lying on his side, facing the window. Harry took another step. Snape looked … different, Harry found. He decided it must be the dusk in the room that made Snape look less angry, less tense. Harry took another step forward and grinned to himself. That was five steps into the room! Silently he congratulated himself. He dared not to stay longer, lest Snape wake up and catch him at his little adventure. But before he returned to his couch, Harry couldn't stop the flittering thought that Snape looked almost _nice_.

 

******

 

Harry looked up from the fire that he'd been staring at and pushed the sport section of the Daily Prophet slowly and nearly inconspicuously on the other side of the coffee table where Snape sat and pretended to be still interested in the potions journal on his lap. He knew from experience it would be a couple more minutes before Snape would pick up the sport section 'by accident'. It was the same thing every evening.

Smiling to himself, Harry took one of the biscotti that Snape had more or less tossed on the table after he'd poured himself a Scotch. Harry wasn't quite sure if it was luck that Snape had presented him with his favourite cookies that night or if Snape actually knew what his favourites were. He definitely wouldn't go and spoil it by asking about it.

The thought was nice though, because it would mean that Snape did something nice for him. Harry frowned at that. Actually, Snape had done a lot of nice things for him lately. He'd taken Harry in, after all, when he didn't have to. He could've made Harry stay at the clinic – the idea of staying _there_ made Harry shudder.

He felt Snape's questioning eyes on himself, but shook his head. He was here, after all. He knew he should thank Snape for that, but he didn't know how to start that conversation.

 

******

 

A chime went off, sounding so shrill and threatening that the spoon slipped from Harry's hands.

"What is that?!" Snape asked harshly, but Harry barely heard him over the sound itself and the rushing in his head. Panic started bubbling up in him and he felt himself trembling. Only faintly he noticed how he was pushed into a chair. "Potter! What is that noise?!"

Harry swallowed the bile that crept up his throat. "My burglar alarm." His fingers clenched together, he heard his knuckles crack, but there wasn't enough feeling to stop the fear from rising. "Somebody is trying to break into my home."

"Stay here. I'll be right back," Snape said after a second and Disapparated with a bang. Harry stared ahead and only blinked as the alarm stopped ringing. He didn't really register how he got up and leant over the sink to vomit. It was only when he felt the tingle of a cleaning spell wash over him and determined hands led him to the couch that he noticed that Snape was back.

Snape waited until Harry's breathing had evened out and Harry was more like himself again before he poured both of them a good measure of Firewhiskey and said: "I think it's about time for you to tell me."

"Tell you what?" Harry swallowed and stared at his glass.

"Everything."

Harry closed his eyes briefly, then took a sip from his whiskey. "He got away?"

"Yes, he did."

Harry took a deep breath, but didn't start talking right away. To talk meant to remember and he had been trying to avoid that with all his might. Had even partially succeeded. But maybe Snape deserved to know after all that he'd done for Harry. Harry sipped on his whiskey again and slowly, quietly began to talk: "I … I went to a pub. A Muggle one. Wanted to blend in, maybe meet someone. I don't know. I had a few pints, was a little tipsy and tired and decided to walk home. Too many Muggles around to Disapparate, besides, it wasn't far from my flat." Harry sniffed and wiped his sleeve over his damp face. "I was about to open the door and … he just jumped me. Hadn't even noticed he was there. He pushed me inside, took my wand. And he…" Harry shook his head. He couldn't say it. Wouldn't. "I tried fighting him, but then he petrified me and –" He hid his face between his knees, not wanting to see how Snape looked at him. It didn't matter if it would be disgust or pity he'd be seeing in Snape's face – Harry couldn't stand either. "Afterwards he dragged me into my bedroom. It took so long. I don't… I… he left eventually and I lay there for some hours. Eternities. Then the spell broke."

"You didn't call –"

"I couldn't tell anybody!" Harry looked up, anguish pouring out of him with every syllable that he spoke. "No one can know! Promise me!"

Snape swallowed, then nodded. "I promise."

They sat there, silent, for a moment, watching the fire and both of them ignoring the sobs that occasionally broke from Harry's throat.

"Who was it?" Snape finally asked and Harry replied hoarsely: "Yaxley." Snape didn't react with more than exhaling loudly, as if he was restraining himself from saying something.

"Do you know what's the worst?" Snape said nothing and Harry took that as confirmation. "He got me pregnant. But I just couldn't stand the idea of having his baby. Got rid of it." He looked at Snape, his hands fisting his trousers, nails biting through the fabric and into his skin. "I killed! Even with Voldemort – even with him I only ever used Expelliarmus. But this… this being, inside of me. I had it killed. Because I was too weak –"

"You weren't weak." Snape grabbed his shoulder and Harry tried to twist away, but Snape wouldn't let him, made Harry face him. "Would you have been able to love the child?"

Harry swallowed, then shook his head.

"Would you have kept it?"

Again, Harry shook his head.

"Would you have hated it? Hated yourself for carrying it?"

This time Harry nodded.

Snape looked him steadily into the eyes and waited until Harry focussed on him as well. "You did what you had to. You protected yourself. Never regret that."

After a while Harry nodded again, but he wasn't sure if he really agreed.

 

******

 

It was a couple of days later, when Harry had recovered from the shock, that he asked Snape something that had been on his mind for quite some time now: "Do you resent me for being here?" Yaxley hadn't reappeared yet and Harry's flat had been undisturbed since the incident. Harry didn't think he could go back any time soon, though.

Snape looked up from his newspaper. "I brought you here."

"Yeah. Because you felt you had to."

"Because you couldn't stay there alone."

Harry looked at his empty plate. "And they tell me _I’ve_ got a saviour complex. You're saving me again."

Snape stood up and cleared their plates away, washing them by hand. "I don't have a saviour complex."

"Really?" Harry scoffed. "Could have fooled me, what with saving me all the time."

"That's different."

"How so? Because you swore to Dumbledore you'd keep me safe?"

"No. It's not that. I did that when I led you like a pig to the slaughterhouse. When I sent you on your way –"

"It was necessary."

Snape took a deep breath. "Yes."

"If that promise is done with, then why save me now? What's different?"

"You're different." With that Snape turned and left without looking at Harry again. He didn't return for his routine check in the afternoon, but Harry could occasionally hear Snape's voice coming from the cellar when he was shouting at the potions he was brewing.

Harry passed the afternoon by cleaning up the kitchen and sitting on the couch, staring into the fire. What had Snape meant by that? Had he changed so much since the battle? He'd grown up, certainly, had passed his exams and started to work, but he couldn't have changed so much. Maybe Snape had meant that Harry had become soft. Maybe he was too weak – though, no. Snape would have said that if he'd thought that Harry was slacking. After all he yelled at Harry often enough at work. Though less than he had when Harry had been his student at Hogwarts.

Harry shook his head. He couldn't solve the riddle. Maybe he would find out if he observed Snape more closely. Maybe it was Snape who had changed.

 

******

 

That night Harry snuck in even further into Snape's bedroom and tried to find some evidence of change on the sleeping man's face. Besides the fact that sleep has softened his features, he couldn't detect any outer signs of the change.

His usual tour around the house didn't bring him solace either. But for once it wasn't the thought of the abortion that troubled Harry or the fear of a nightmare that kept him up, but the puzzle that was Snape.

 

******

 

The weekend had passed without so much as a hint to help answerHarry's questions – not that he was going to outright ask the man. But he'd tried to subtly find out if there had been anything that could have changed Snape's opinion of Harry. Such as a major stroke. But even a test of the mobility of Snape's right side didn’t bring his query to fruition – it only got him a slightly smarting smack on the arm.

But Harry had decided that he'd find out that Monday evening. He'd cook dinner, suggest to Snape that he should drink a glass of wine and then ask his question. Bloody subtlety be damned.

Harry looked at the big clock in the living room. It was already six and Snape still hadn't arrived. The saltimbocca that Snape loved so much (and wasn't it weird that he knew that?) was kept under a warming charm, thanks to him being able to use magic again, but Harry had never been very good at being patient.

"Why aren't you home yet?" Harry wondered aloud and started pacing through the living room. "Where are you?" Surely Snape was just being held up at work. Master McElroy liked to talk a lot and whoever was unfortunate enough to be nearby when he got started would have problems to get rid of him again.

But six turned into seven, then into eight, a Floo-call to Severus' office wasn't answered and Harry started to worry.

"Snape is capable of taking care of himself. He's alright," he told himself, but couldn't help wondering where that left him. Who was there to take care of him? Sure, his magic was sufficient enough to keep a meal warm, but it wouldn't be enough yet to serve him well in a fight.

Harry gripped his wand tighter at that thought. "Nobody is coming here." The statement sounded empty to his own ears. He'd thought the same thing about his flat, had thought he'd be safe there as well. What if somehow Yaxley found out where he was? Yaxley had been to his place, he would know that Harry was somewhere else. He'd start looking for him. Snape wasn't too far off the mark. What if Snape really wasn't being held up at work? What if he was somewhere unreachable? Or worse, what if Yaxley had done something to Snape? What if he was coming here?!

Warding spells flew from Harry's tongue before he was even conscious of casting them. He felt a tightly-knit net close around the house, around the ground floor, around the living room. Felt how the net tightened even more until Harry was sure nothing and nobody would get through it. Trying not to notice how exhausted he was and how badly he was trembling, Harry extinguished the light, crouched down on the couch, wand in hand, and stared into the dark.

 

******

 

First it was only a presence, then it was a low rumble that caught Harry's attention. The wards were singing, the sound getting higher when a spell hit them. So it had begun.

Harry wet his lips and took the wand in both of his hands. He was not afraid. He had faced down Voldemort, had gone to his own death. Bloody hell. His heart thumped loudly in his chest. He was not scared. His wards would hold. He just had to concentrate. And even if they didn't, he'd fight. This time he was prepared, this time…

The wards trembled as a series of spells hit them, then there was nothing but silence. Hesitantly, Harry got up and turned towards the door. Through the walls and through the wards a shimmering figure raced and Harry fell back onto the sofa with a cry followed by an Expelliarmus. His spell whizzed through the figure and only then Harry saw that he was looking at a Patronus. A doe.

" _Harry, it's me. Let me in. Take down the wards. It's …_ " The Patronus hesitated, then spoke again: " _It's Severus._ "

A strangled sob escaped from Harry's lips. His wand cluttered on the floor and he let go of the tension, let the wards fade into nothing. The front door was thrown open and Snape ran in, grabbed Harry and pulled him close.

"Potter. You are a bloody idiot."

 

******

 

"Where were you?"

"Out."

"Where?! I was here alone and you weren't there and I couldn't reach you and – _he could have come back_."

"No, he couldn't have. He never will."

"What –"

Severus took Harry by his shoulders and looked deep in his eyes. "He won't be back. Ever."

Harry gulped. Despite fearing the answer – not because of Yaxley, but because of Severus – he had to ask: "Is he dead?"

Severus eyes darkened at that, but he shook his head. "There are things far worse than death."

Harry opened his mouth to ask what Severus meant by that, but shut it again – and not only for the dark look Severus gave him. If one man could find the Dementors and bring them back, if only for one last deed, it was Severus. Harry nodded, relief and gratitude nearly overwhelming his body, and he closed his arms around Severus. He wasn't sure if Severus was holding him upright or if they were hugging, but both were good options. And both were probably true as well.

"Thank you."

 

******

 

"Potter, do me a favour and don't ward yourself in today, will you?"

Harry had the decency to blush, but quickly hid his face behind the sport section of the Daily Prophet. "I won't," he mumbled.

"Good." Snape said and Harry heard the rustle of Snape's part of the newspaper. "You can expect me back at 6 o'clock tonight."

This time Harry hid a smile behind the newspaper. He reached for his cup and accidentally brushed against Snape's hand, which was reaching for the abandoned science section of the Prophet. "Sorry," he mumbled and quickly withdrew his hand without grabbing his cup. Snape grunted, then stood up.

"I should get to work," he said briskly. "I have to brew Friday's potion again. That idiot Holden managed to destroy the whole batch with just one of his experiments."

"I thought everyone knows not to let that guy come anywhere near any of the experiments."

Snape snorted. "Everyone does, but Holden's new technique is to wait till the lab is unoccupied. Then he sneaks in, does whatever his pea-brain tells him is right and basically destroys at least a day's work."

Harry groaned. "Well, this is definitely something I'm not looking forward to dealing with. Speaking of which, when do you think can I come back to work?"

Snape gave him a once over that nearly made Harry blush again. "When do you think you're able to?"

 

******

 

Snape's words stayed with him for the next couple of hours. Healer Shah had mostly cleared him, at least for smaller amounts of magic. If he was careful over the next week, or so she had said, he should be right as rain. But while Harry felt nearly like himself again and slowly, but surely got sick of staying inside the house and doing nothing but reading and staring at walls, he wasn't sure if he was ready to go back to work.

Maybe he should do a test, he thought. He should leave the house and see how it went. Harry nodded at himself and went over to the coat-rack in the hall to grab his jacket. The fresh air would do him good and he could buy some groceries in a shop nearby. He'd make himself useful.

Checking for his wand and some money, Harry opened the door.

And stood still.

"Take a step, Harry," he mumbled, but didn't move. It was just the outside, he told himself. Nothing exciting. Nothing dangerous. A village. The only thing that could happen here would be people staring at him because he wasn't wearing the right sort of clothes. Though they probably had seen Snape, so they wouldn't be that surprised seeing Harry in a similar (but less sinister) attire.

How long had it been since he'd left the house? Any house. He'd been holed up at his own place for at least a week, he remembered. Then he'd been at the clinic, but really, he'd just Apparated. The same went for when Snape had come for him. Inside to inside apparitions and no leaving the house had been involved. Harry tried to remember how long he'd already stayed at Snape's house, but the days had sort of melted into each other. Weeks, at least.

And he hadn't left the house.

Harry stared at the narcissi that grew in Snape's garden and willed himself to move. Slowly he pushed his right foot forwards until it stood on the weedy stone pavement. Harry took a deep breath. Now the other foot.

 

It took thirty more minutes till Harry stood outside completely and had taken another step. The fresh air that he'd looked forward to now made him feel chilled instead of calm, but he wasn't about to give up on his plan to go grocery shopping. The protective wards of Snape's home extended till the small garden gate a couple of feet in front of Harry. Harry crossed his arms and sneered in his best Snape-imitation at the gate. He'd beat that gate, he decided.

 

******

 

When Snape returned from work hours later, he found Harry sitting with his knees drawn up next to the gate. Ignoring Harry's slightly red-rimmed eyes he snapped at him. "What in Merlin's name are you doing sitting outside?! It's not summer, so you won't get your precious tan out here. And I swear, if you got sick I won't be the one to help you get better!"

Harry looked up, his pout more than evident on his face, and said with a voice that might have been a tiny bit too small: "I tried beating the gate."

Snape blinked and opened his mouth, then decided better and just groaned and rolled his eyes. Wordlessly he extended his hand and pulled Harry to his feet. "I want a hot cup of tea, Potter."

 

******

 

All morning Harry had stared at his right hand. His right hand that had brushed against Snape's arm and hand as Harry had reached for the pot of tea when Snape had just been about to fetch the jam from the fridge.

Why was his hand tingling?

It felt like life had somehow gotten back into his fingertips – yes, he knew that sounded tacky, but there was no better way to describe it. Harry rubbed his fingers together to see if the feeling would change, but it didn't. Instead Snape's face flashed through his mind – and wasn't that weird?

Why the _hell_ was his hand tingling?

Harry grabbed his jacket and walked outside the house, frowning at his hand. Something clearly was wrong. Maybe he should go and see a healer. It could be carpal tunnel, after all. Aunt Petunia had often said that she was predisposed to get carpal tunnel and therefore she couldn't scrub the kitchen or the floor. But now that he thought of it – wouldn't that also mean that he was predisposed to get it as well? Maybe this was the result of all the floor scrubbing he'd done as a child.

Harry opened the gate and stepped outside. He felt the wards give him goosebumps and it was only then that he halted and turned around.

"Blood hell!" Harry breathed as he noticed that he'd left the house without even noticing. Before a sense of panic could break out he clamped down on it and told himself – even though that had hardly helped the last time he had tried this – that Yaxley would not be a problem anymore. He tried taking deep breaths to keep calm. "You're outside already. Now you go on as well," he told himself, only to roll his eyes at himself. How far was he gone that he was already talking to himself.

Harry looked back at the garden path that it had taken him ages to cross and shook his head. Well, he certainly couldn't be counted as one of the sanest persons on earth, so talking to himself was hardly a step up on the ladder of crazy. In fact, Ron would probably think that Harry talking to Snape was worse than Harry talking to himself.

The thought led him back to the tingling of his hand. He wondered, in the back of his mind, if Snape's hand was tingling as well, but quickly cut off that thought. Harry started walking. That day he managed to walk five hundred feet before remembering that he'd left Snape's non-existing oven on.

 

******

 

Harry pressed himself against the wall next to the door that had led him into Snape's room. He longed to look at Snape's hands, but there was barely enough light for Harry to see more than a silhouette. If he didn't know Snape's room so well – and didn't that sound creepy, Harry thought – he probably would have bumped into the wardrobe or the laundry basket.

Briefly he considered casting _Lumos_ , but dismissed that idea immediately. Snape would notice if someone cast a spell close to him, especially when being inside his own home. And while the healer had allowed Harry to use magic again, his magical reservoir wasn't back to its old heights yet and he had to be careful with how many spells he was casting each day. It would soon get better, most likely within the next couple of weeks, but he still had to be patient.

Besides, Snape would probably be woken up by the light anyway. Which meant that Harry wouldn't be able to take a closer look at Snape's hands tonight and wouldn't be able to figure out what was so special about Snape's hands that their touch made Harry's fingers – his whole body, really – tingle.

 

******

 

Harry looked down the road that he'd come from. He could still see Snape's house from here, but the next turn would lead him further than he'd dared going before. Harry took a deep breath. He could do this. Besides, they were out of eggs.

At first his steps were hesitant, then they became more determined. Harry felt a spark of confidence and smiled. He might not be okay yet, he realised, but he was getting there. He surely would never forget what had happened, could still see it vividly in front of his eyes, but nowadays it wasn't everything he saw, not everything he thought about. He could push it from his mind, could detach himself and even think of Yaxley without breaking into panic. Although, that might solely be because of Snape and his deeds. What mattered, though, was that Harry slowly felt himself getting a grasp on his own life again. And he realised that – maybe, eventually – he could be happy again.

Harry stopped short at the sight of the store and blinked. He had been quicker than he'd thought he would be. Apart from seeing his healer, the owner of the shop would be the first person other than Snape he'd talk to. Taking a deep breath, Harry pushed open the door and smiled. Now he only had to remember to get eggs and the chocolate that Snape seemed to like so much.

 

******

 

Harry pretended that he was not blushing hard and tried to hide behind his teacup. Which was tragically small, unfortunately, and rather not practical to hide behind. He also pretended that Snape hadn't seen him stare at his hands while Snape ate the chocolate that Harry had bought for him.

He was not able to ignore the look that Snape gave him. He couldn't identify the look because that would mean looking at Snape once more – he definitely wouldn't be doing that again so quickly – but Harry wagered it was something between 'What are you up to, Potter?' and 'What the bloody hell is wrong with you?'. Both were quite possible, Harry found, and excused himself to go to the loo.

Harry locked himself in and glared at his reflection in the mirror. Subtlety really wasn't his strong suit, at least not with stuff like this. He didn't want Snape thinking that he was snapping. Though, maybe he was. Maybe thinking about Snape's hands was his version of a psychotic break. After all, it couldn't be normal to think about a man's hands after he had been raped by another only a while ago.

But he fetl so normal regarding everything that wasn't Snape. Didn't that contradict his theory? Maybe he should have taken the healer up on the offer to consult a psycholowitch. Then again the thought of talking about it didn't sound appealing. He had told Snape about everything – that counted as sufficient talking, right?

Besides, it wasn't as if talking had solved any of his other problems in life. Talking had certainly not helped him as a child, it hadn't helped in school – in fact it had only resulted in trouble – and it hadn't helped during the war. These were all things he'd mastered differently and this one would be too.

Harry shook his head. Hiding in the loo would only make matters worse. For starters, it would make Snape wonder why Harry was taking so long – and that was something that was just not on. Harry splashed his face with a bit of water, rubbed a towel over his face and re-joined Snape at the table. As he sat down Snape looked at Harry for the briefest moment before concentrating on the chocolate again and while this time Harry still wasn't able to read the look completely, he knew that it definitely wasn't anywhere in the area of thinking that Harry was crazy. In fact, or so Harry told himself, he had seen Snape look at _Harry's_ hands.

 

******

 

"And you think you're ready to do this?"

Harry nearly smiled at the tiny hint of worry in Snape's voice, but nodded. "Yes, I do. I have to go back. Staying here, cooped up…" Harry looked back towards the living room. "I just keep on mulling things around in my head, you know?"

"Well, if you're sure–"

"I am." Harry closed his robe and fastened it with a clasp, then grabbed his backpack. "Life goes on, doesn't it?" he added quietly.

Snape cleared his throat. "That it does." He straightened his own robes, then extended his arm and ignored Harry's curious look. "I believe a side-along would be best. You have to save your energy where you can. Don't think I'll go easy on you because it's your first day back at work, Potter."

Harry grinned at that and took Snape's arm, noticing how that now familiar tingle returned when he felt Snape's warmth. He resisted leaning against him just so and steeled himself for the Apparition, wishing that Snape would need more time to prepare because all too soon he would have to let go of Snape again.

******

 

When having to let go of Snape after the Apparition, Harry made the decision that that kind of contact really wasn't enough. Besides, he had to finally get to the gist of what that tingling was about. Or rather, if his assumption was right and he had not had a psychotic break, but had actually fallen for Snape. The possibility had taken root in his thoughts now and beside how weird, how ridiculous and how incredibly stupid it was, chances were that Harry truely was in love with Snape. But he had to be sure.

 

******

 

At one point Harry had had a plan. A carefully thought out plan, that he had thought of and refined during yet another sleepless night. He distinctly remembered wanting to wait for the right timing and that there was to be a dinner, possibly a romantic fire, maybe conversation. But instead it ended up with Harry more or less ambushing Snape next to a shelf as Snape reached out to get a book from the top shelf.

"Stop, this. Stop this now, Potter!" Snape pushed Harry away and at the same time as he leaned into the shelf behind him. Harry couldn't really tell whether Snape was livid, but Harry definitely was.

"Why? You kissed back!"

Snape groaned and rubbed his hand over his face, turning partially away from Harry. "Of course I did. I'm a red-blooded male, after all. You offering yourself like that…"

"So you liked it!" Harry accused him and only just refrained from putting his hands on his hips.

Snape sighed. "Yes, Potter, I liked it."

"So why do you want me to stop?"

"Because, Potter, you're doing this because of some misguided feeling of gratitude or because you're confused."

"I'm not –"

"Potter." Snape cleared his throat. "Harry. You were raped only a couple of weeks ago. You aborted the resulting foetus. And then you spent weeks recuperating at my house, which you couldn't leave until a couple of days ago. Does this sound to you like any other normal individual?"

"Are you saying I'm crazy?!"

"No! Would you listen to me?! I'm saying that it's your right to be confused and vulnerable and to think of a person that was kind to you as some focus of attraction… But it's not healthy. What you feel is not real and you'll soon enough realise and regret that you tried to… get involved with me." Somehow Snape looked sad at that, but that didn't keep Harry from still being pissed at him.

Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You're wrong." He raised a hand when Snape wanted to interject. "Not with everything, you're not. But you're wrong to tell me what I feel. _I_ know what I feel. I have had plenty of time to think about what exactly I feel. And I feel attracted to you. Not because you saved me – because, let's be honest, you have saved me countless of times and I haven't quite felt as attracted to you before. It's because I finally got to know you outside of school, war and work. And I _like_ you. A lot."

"I do not know whether to be flattered or insulted by that statement."

Harry snorted. "Fact is, I think you're hot. Another fact is that I like to spend time with you. And I would like it even more if that time involved kissing."

"Kissing?"

"To start with." Harry uncrossed his arms and exhaled slowly. "I don't know if I –"

Snape stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder. Suddenly he was standing much closer than he had before and Harry forgot what he had wanted to say. Snape looked like he wanted to ask Harry if he was sure, if he really wanted this, if he –

Harry decided that enough time had been wasted on talking and thinking and, pulling Snape even closer, kissed him. Snape's lips parted, their breath mingled and their tongues touched. Snape pressed himself closer, his arms encircling Harry in a way that made him feel safe – and wanted.

 

******

 

Harry grinned at Snape and blushed at the same time. Snape, sitting across from Harry on the couch while Harry occupied the armchair, only raised an eyebrow. Harry tried concentrating on the book, on the combination of potions and spells, but failed miserably and instead raised his eyes to look at Snape again. It was a far more pleasant past time, anyway.

"What?" Snape said over the quiet sounds of the fire.

"Nothing." Harry blushed even more. As Snape harrumphed and went back to his newspaper, Harry added: "I just… I'd like to…"

"What? Spit it out."

"Kiss you."

Snape's expression softened immediately into something that was akin to a smile. "Then why don't you?"

Harry bit his lip. It wasn't like he was very experienced in these matters – not kissing, per se, but _relationships_. After all, whatever they had was what one would call a relationship. Of sorts. Somewhere in the back of his mind Harry wondered what Ron and Hermione would say to the whole thing, but as he got up to join Snape on the couch he found he couldn't care less about them now.

Tentatively Harry lifted his hand and touched Snape's face. Surprisingly there was a faint trace of stubble. Snape's face was warm and Harry could feel how the corners of Snape's mouth twitched and tried not to form a smile. Harry scooted closer and sighed as Snape's arm came around him and pulled him carefully closer, bringing Harry near enough to kiss.

 

******

 

Darkness had enclosed the house again and Harry padded over familiar floors. Like every night he made his way up the stairs and into Snape's room. Slowly he edged forward until he was nearly standing next to the bed. It was so strange to see Snape this close now that they'd finally kissed. When he'd finally been close to Snape.

Harry shook his head. Calling him Snape really wouldn't do anymore. Severus. He rolled the name around in his head a couple of times, tried to find out how it would sound if he really spoke it aloud. He'd only ever heard a few people use it, every one using a different phonological pattern. Which one would he use? How would the name sound on his lips, his tongue?

A rustle from the bed drew his attention away from the name and to the man. The man who was looking at him. Harry's breath caught in his throat and he felt a blush and panic at being discovered rising at the same time.

"Are you ever planning on getting in?" Severus said with sleep-heavy voice. Harry blinked at that and huffed out a laugh.

"I might." He took a step closer to the bed and gently touched Severus' hand. "I just… would you mind…"

"Po –" Severus cleared his throat. "Harry. Get in. I want to sleep and I can't when you're staring at me. Besides, sleeping in a bed for a change might do wonders for your back."

Harry smiled at that. He walked around the bed, his steps suddenly lighter, all trepidation gone. Some of the electrifying tension and the curiosity remained though and Harry liked it that way. He lifted the covers and slipped under, scooting close to Severus. He knew there wouldn't be any cuddling until he initiated it. He didn't know when that would be, didn't even know if Severus liked to cuddle. But things like that, Harry knew, came with time.

 

The End


End file.
